


Connor Dances

by LadyDrace



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dancing, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hank Anderson is a Good Friend, POV Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28573563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Connor enjoys music.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	Connor Dances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marble_hearse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marble_hearse/gifts).



> I labeled it gen, but it can totally be read as slashy (I know I do), which is why I slapped the pre-slash tag on it too. 
> 
> This has been finished for ages, just lying around in my folders without me finding the spoons to post it. But today is Caroline's birthday, so I figured I'd post it for her, since she's my baby and I love her and want to give her fic. <3
> 
> Happy birthday, baby. 
> 
> Unbetaed.

“ _I don’t listen to music, as such. But I’d like to.”_

He’d said the words so casually, back then. That isn’t to say he wasn’t being truthful. Rather, he hadn’t had the ability then to even grasp what it would mean.

Before this he’d imaged perhaps enjoying a quiet night with Hank, listening to his favorite albums and songs, appreciating the sounds for what they are. Listening to music seems to Connor like something to be savored, which, obviously, some people do.

But he’d had no idea what music would _do to him_ once he deviated.

They step into the club, the music loud and overpowering from the moment they open the door. Hank steps further inside, looking around for the person they need to question about the latest case. Connor, however, is frozen by the door.

He’s been in clubs before – indeed, he’s been in several places with loud music. But not much since he deviated, and not once before has the music had this effect on him.

It’s like the music is coming from _inside him_ , which it definitely could. His audio hardware could easily play music instead of his voice. But he’s not making any noise right now, he’s sure of it. Yet, the music is there, thumping away in his skull and his chest cavity. It feels like it beats its way through every part of his body, down his arms and legs, making them twitch in time with the rhythm, and he looks down at his fingers as they tap against each other.

Hank seems to have noticed that Connor isn’t following him, because suddenly he’s there right in front of him, a crooked smile on his face.

“You like the music?” he says, not as loud as he would need to if he were speaking to another human, but he still has to almost shout. Connor nods to avoid having to shout back. Yes, he does like this music. He’s surprised to realize it, the same way he’s still surprised about liking anything at all. Deviancy is still new to him, and it’s a learning process.

He identifies the music easily enough. A fusion of swing – a quite old genre – and something newer. Neo Swing, the internet informs him. It’s nothing like Hank’s preferred music, but even he bobs gently to the beat as Connor tries to come to terms with his new feelings.

“You know, it’s no rush. We don’t need to get this statement right now. You can take a little time to enjoy yourself,” Hank says, and Connor wants to argue. He takes his job very seriously, and he also just finds it enjoyable. But that fulfillment feels somewhat less significant right now, compared to the sensations of the beat rippling through him.

“It’s okay,” Hank continues, as if he can tell what Connor is thinking. “You can move. That’s what a good beat does to you.”

He looks at Hank for a long moment, wondering how he so accurately pinpoints Connor’s doubts, and as if to underline the point, Hank does a dorky little dance, fists circling and hips twitching to the beat. “Come on, let it happen.”

It’s clearly not Hank’s genre, but it might well be Connor’s, because it’s as if all he needed was permission before his whole body starts moving.

It’s not in his nature to invent something from scratch when he has access to endless amounts of knowledge, and, considering he has no idea what he’s supposed to do with this beat inside him, he quickly looks up some examples of dancing done to this type of music.

And then he’s off. Pre-constructing moves come to him easy as if he was made for it, and he goes seamlessly from one step to the next, catching every switch-up in the music with one of his own.

It’s intoxicating, and he steps, bounces and spins faster and faster along with the music. He catches a glimpse of Hank’s slack-jawed face, but it feels unimportant compared to the thrilling pump in his chest. Almost like a real heartbeat. Not the fake beat of his thirium pump. A real heart, full of hot blood, bringing oxygen to every vein, fizzing under his skin.

It makes him feel _alive_.

He’s so caught up in his feelings that it takes him a moment to realize that he’s causing a bit of a stir. But not in a bad way. In fact, a bit of a clearing is forming on the dance floor, several people looking on, and a few others matching his moves and countering with their own. He casts a quick look back at Hank, wordlessly asking permission, and gets an indulgent smile and hand-wave, shooing him off towards the others.

Connor smiles back, grateful that Hank seems to be always willing and even eager to help him experience new things in his deviancy. And then he lets himself be taken away by the music. Most people around him simply bounce or gyrate with no real pattern or intent, but a few take up position near him, grinning as they match or counter his moves. He tries out few dozen different moves, testing what feels good, and observes what moves his partners prefer. It’s almost like a fight. Or negotiation. Meeting or opposing movements, push and pull, give and take.

He loses himself in it completely, whirling and stepping, loving how it feels every time his feet hit the floor on a beat. How it feels to bend his legs, cock his hip, or toss his head at the exact right time. Someone whoops nearby, but Connor pays it no notice, the crescendo of the song bringing him higher and higher until it breaks, wrapping up the beat with a very satisfying clash at the end.

Then the music is gone, and he becomes aware of his surroundings. A few dozen people around him scream and cheer and clap, apparently impressed with the performance, and all of the people who’d danced along with him acknowledge him one after the other. One shakes his hand, another claps him on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd, and a third – a fellow android – links up with him briefly to invite him out to similar clubs for more dancing in the future, before also moving on.

The music starts up again with a different tune of the same genre. It’s just as intoxicating as the first, but it feels like now that he’s gotten his first taste he’s ready to move on for now.

He goes back to Hank, and lets himself be pulled outside where they can talk without shouting. “Hell yeah, Connor!” Hank cries the minute they’re out of the noise. “ _That’s_ how you enjoy some fucking music!” He’s grinning from ear to ear, and Connor smiles back weakly.

“It is?”

“Fuck yeah! I mean, sure, some people enjoy a more, uhh… sedate listening experience. But this is why people go to concerts! Damn, I gotta take you to a concert some day!”

“I’d like that, Hank. Thank you.”

Hank huffs. “Don’t thank me yet, it won’t be this stuff. I’m a gracious bastard, but not that gracious. That shit is too bubblegum for me.”

“Too-? Oh, you mean juvenile?”

“Not necessarily. But, yeah. Only kids and androids have the fucking energy to bounce around like that. My knees don’t even bend that way anymore.”

Connor smirks, the exaggeration so very Hank. “I’m confident they do. But I understand if this particular music isn’t to your taste.”

“Damn right it’s not. But, hell, if you wanna bounce like a ping pong ball to kiddie pop, then who am I to stop you,” Hank grouses, and Connor rolls his eyes.

“There’s no need to be rude just because you’re old and slow,” Connor says, only holding back his shit-eating grin until Hank moves as if the slap him on the back of the head, backing off at the last minute with a laugh.

“I wonder who taught you to be such a brat?”

“Perhaps a certain lieutenant with a bad attitude and a coarse sense of humor?”

“Never heard of ‘im,” Hanks says airily, and points to the club. “You ready to go back in and do some police work?”

Connor looks at the door, hearing the faint beat from inside, and nods. “Yes, Lieutenant. Though perhaps I’ll stay and dance a little more when we’re done.”

“Fine by me, as long as you don’t expect me to join ya.”

Connor nods, deciding then and there that he’s going to convince Hank to dance some day.

End.


End file.
